


Your Illusion

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Characters Are in Fandom, Family Secrets, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, John Watson is a Good Friend, M/M, Mythology References, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sherlock is a TV Star, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is the star of the nation's newest hit television series about a teenage werewolf trying to survive high school. John Watson is a broke university student trying to make his way through Med school. When a chance meeting at a comic convention sparks conflict, the two realise they have more in common than they thought.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 107





	1. Unforeseen Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short fic that I will be posting for the prompt "Met in Fandom" :) There won't be many chapters to it, but I wanted to share it here anyway and I hope that you all enjoy it!
> 
> Special thanks to CarmillaCarmine, thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Langauge for their amazing support and input on this story! I wouldn't know what to do without them! <3

_ Abysmal… Grotesque… Dull… _

Such was the life of the one and only Sherlock Holmes. The flash of a camera, another autograph signed, another over-excited teenage girl draped all over him - all for the price of a year's worth of cigarettes. The whole idea was absolutely absurd, yet for some reason, his brother Mycroft continued to contract him out. He insisted that, as the central star of television’s hottest werewolf drama, Sherlock should make an appearance at every single fandom event in the country and, truth be told, the whole thing was starting to grate on the young actor's nerves. 

With his signature Prince Charming smile plastered on his face, he turned to greet the next eager face waiting in line: that of a mousy-haired girl with the same nauseatingly dreamy look in her eyes as all of the other silly girls that had come before her - the same look that made Sherlock’s stomach clench in disgust. Her yellow cardigan brought out the dark brown of her eyes and the cuffs of her white trousers were tucked into a pair of brand new winter boots. She was accompanied by a blond-haired young man with an athletic build and calming navy blue eyes.  _ Boyfriend?  _ Sherlock glanced at the young man’s shoes -  _ Converse, well-worn but unmistakably well-loved  _ \- before taking in the rest of his clothes -  _ faded blue jeans with a hole in the left knee and an ill-fitting black and white striped jumper that had obviously been picked off the rack of a local charity shop _ .  _ Hmm… Definitely not well-off or even remotely close… The girl must have bought his ticket and dragged him along with her judging by the way she rambled on at him as he feigned polite interest... _ As his assessment of the pair and their situation proved to be inconclusive, he shrugged it off.

“Hello, there,” he said through clenched teeth, bared in the fake smile. He took the photograph - a printed stock photo of himself taken at a press junket - from her outstretched hand. She was shaking and her eyes were blown wide in amazement.  _ Great… another star-struck fangirl…  _ The expression never seemed to change and, yet, he never failed to be fascinated by the sheer insanity of it all. What was it that brought idiots like these out in droves just for the chance to catch a glimpse of someone who played pretend on a lousy television show? He winced inwardly at the lie hidden in his own thoughts.  _ Well, not all of us are pretending… not completely anyway…  _ Shaking his head to clear his mind, he picked a black marker from the table to his left and leaned down to write, hesitating for a brief moment. “Who shall I make it out to, then?” he asked. 

Behind him, Sherlock could hear the young woman’s friend muttering encouragement - albeit frustratedly - in an attempt to nudge her forward. Whatever he had said must have done the trick as Sherlock heard her stumble forward awkwardly. She cleared her throat, her nervousness evident in the gesture before she spoke. “Um… M-Molly, please… Molly Hooper…” she replied, finally.

He inked her name on the photo as he scribbled the cringe-worthy scripted message -  _ ‘I had a howling good time meeting you!’  _ \- and signed his own name below. The inanity of it used to embarrass him to no end, but, once he realised how insipid his fanbase actually was, he found that he no longer cared for the opinions of those he deemed simpleminded. 

He capped the marker and snapped the autographed picture up with a flourish, blowing on it to dry the ink as he turned back to Molly. He waved it back and forth a bit before presenting it to her. She gasped, all of her shyness seeming to melt away as she let out a high-pitched squeal that nearly made Sherlock’s ears bleed. 

“There we are,” he said, passing it back to her and wincing as she rattled off a diatribe of “thank you”s and “you’re so amazing”s. 

She gripped the picture in her hands and turned to show it to her friend. “Look at THIS, John! Can you believe it?!” she all but shouted, hugging it tightly to her chest. 

John, as he seemed to be called, blushed profusely as he caught the uneasy expression on Sherlock’s face and he nodded at her politely. “Oh yeah, Molls… It’s great! Um…” he scratched the back of his neck and gestured back toward Sherlock. “Why don’t you get your picture made and then we can go, huh? Let him finish up?”

John, Sherlock could tell, was growing just as uncomfortable as he was with Molly’s histrionic reaction, but he seemed to relax a bit when she stuffed the photograph into his hands and turned her attention back to the celebrity behind her. “I almost forgot about the photo!” she giggled. The girl gripped Sherlock’s forearm and bounced on the balls of her feet, as the man behind the camera did his best to calm her down. Eventually, she was able to rein in her energy as the photographer asked what sort of pose she would like to do. 

The question seemed to come as a shock to her and she quizzically glanced up at Sherlock. “Oh! You mean… I get to choose…?” she asked the starstruck awe taking up residence in her voice once again. 

Sherlock nodded reluctantly and felt his chest clench. He already knew what to expect and, before he could stop himself, he blurted out a rather snarky retort “Yes, you get to choose... to an extent. I refuse to be exploited for the purpose of fulfilling any of your personal fantasies, as so many of you often attempt to wrangle me into tight embraces accompanied by longing looks of passion, and I must take the opportunity to go ahead and express my distaste for pressing my lips or mouth to any part of you, no matter what the circumstances might be,” he stated, matter-of-factly. The words flew from his lips in a flurry of irritation as he yanked his arm from Molly’s grasp and it took him a moment to process the look of sheer humiliation on the poor girl’s face. 

Sweeping a hand back through his dark chocolate curls, Sherlock cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “Um… Alright, well.. with that being said… We can do whatever else you would like,” he finished, giving her a tight smile in a pathetic attempt to smooth the situation. 

The intense blush on Molly’s cheeks deepened and she nodded quietly, not meeting his gaze. She made to step forward, but John’s arm came out to stop her and Sherlock couldn’t help but turn his attention toward him as he stepped over in front of her. 

“Seriously? Just what the fuck is wrong with you?” John snapped, staring up at the taller man with thinly veiled disgust. His eyes blazed with unadulterated revulsion and his lips curled up in a growl.

Molly gasped and gripped onto John’s sleeve as he took a step forward, jabbing his finger into Sherlock’s chest. The shorter man shrugged her off and glowered up at Sherlock as he continued his rant. “I know it might be a bit invasive having all these people prowling all over you but the only reason you have any of this is because of THEM! But you… You think you can just talk to people any old way you want, don’t you?” he snarled. “You think you’re something special - real hot shit! - just because your stupid face is plastered all over a few tabloids and everyone within a fifty-mile radius wants to shag you, but you will NOT talk to my friend like that! Do you hear me?” 

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and his entire body felt as though it had turned to lead. Reacting reflexively to the confrontation, he tried to take a step back, feeling a jolt as John’s finger made contact with his chest, but found that his feet were practically rooted to the spot. It sent a shock straight through his chest and he winced at the pain, completely surprised at the effect the contact had on him. The shorter man before him seemed to have shifted from supportive friend to warrior mode in the blink of an eye and the severity of his emotional leap shook Sherlock’s mind to the core. He licked his lips as John seemed to rise up on his toes, doing his best to raise himself eye to eye with Sherlock.

“I… I-” Sherlock tried to speak but his mind had suddenly gone blank. A familiar numbness began to spread to his fingertips and he could feel his pulse rising as his heart rate spiked. He needed to get out of there. He knew what would happen if his pulse were to climb any higher. His eyes flicked all over the room in search of the emergency exits. 

A deep growl emanated low from within John’s throat and he raised his voice yet again. “You…? You what? Aren’t responsible for your actions or the way you treat people simply because you’re an overgrown rich twat with more money than sense? Is that it?” he spat, anger radiating from his compact body. 

Sherlock blinked, unable to form an appropriate response as his heartbeat echoed in his skull, and he let out a low groan as he swayed on his feet.  _ Fuck! This was NOT good…  _ He couldn’t shift here! Not in front of all these people. His eyes rolled back in his head a bit and he licked his lips as he swayed on his feet. “Myc… Mycroft…” he muttered, gripping the table behind him to keep himself upright. The line behind them had amassed into a crowd by now and Sherlock wondered why his bodyguards hadn’t moved in to quell the situation yet. He threw a quick glance at Greg, his main muscle, and furrowed his brow as the man stood stock still; completely fixated on John. What the bloody hell were they doing?

““Mycroft”?” John laughed, low and mirthless. “What is that? Some sort of code word you can say that prompts your suits to whisk you off from the harsh realities that the rest of us have to deal with in our day to day?” he took another step forward and Sherlock could see the rage bubbling up in those once-tranquil ocean eyes. John huffed as Sherlock swayed on his feet and he growled once again. “Yeah… that’s what I thought… You know… I used to think you were pretty cool. Now? Now, I just think you’re a rich prick with a superiority complex. So… Fuck. YOU!” he spat the last word venomously as he brought his hands up and shoved Sherlock backwards.

The table behind him collapsed beneath his weight in an instant and he let out a yelp of surprise. “Vatican cameos!” he shouted as the contact points from John’s hands seemed to burn straight through his dress shirt. He felt as if every last groove of John’s fingerprints was seared into his skin and he curled onto his side, letting out a yowl of pain. 

Sherlock’s shout seemed to snap Greg out of his trance as the rest of his team descended on John, and he moved to scoop Sherlock up off the floor. “Come on; hang in there, mate. I’ve got you. Just hold on as long as you can,” he whispered, clutching Sherlock's limp body to his chest as he fought through the crowd and bolted for the nearest fire escape. 

The air in Sherlock’s lungs seemed to dissipate and he found himself gasping for breath.  _ What the hell had just happened?  _ He clutched at his shirt with one hand, trying desperately to undo the buttons, but failing miserably. His head was pounding, his eyes were burning, and his skin was on fire but he couldn’t do a single thing about it. Just what had John Watson done to him? The question ate away at his mind as the pounding in his head continued; as a burst of fresh air hit his face, Sherlock felt the rest of the world fade away and he slipped into darkness.


	2. Thinking Things Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being kicked out of the convention, John is given time to reflect on the altercation and makes an apology or two... Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for the second chapter of this little disaster! Thank you for sticking with me and reading on! I was right when I said this story would be short. I'm seriously only going to have about 7/8 chapters so it won't be a long read! 
> 
> Special thanks to CarmillaCarmine, Thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Language for their support, edits, and pushing me to keep this going! ❤️ You guys are the best 😘😘😘

The door slammed in John's face and he let out a frustrated growl. "Yeah? Well, fuck all of you!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the thick metal with a loud  _ THUNK _ . The whole ordeal was absolute bollocks but there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He was pissed off at being thrown out, but he couldn't take back any of what he had said or done. He couldn't change Sherlock's behaviour either, and he still couldn't justify choosing to stand back and watch him walk all over Molly like that. 

_ Molly... _

He sighed heavily; he could feel the anger slowly seeping out of him as he begrudgingly turned to face his friend. Her eyes were wide with shock as she stood in front of him, still clutching that narcissistic arsehole's picture to her chest as if someone might try to take it from her. As he stared at her, he felt a thin mantle of shame drape over his shoulders and he slumped against the heavy emergency exit door, sliding all the way down until his arse hit the pavement. He hadn't meant to ruin her day, but he also wasn't about to stand by and let some wealthy dickhead with a pretty face treat her like she was a nuisance.

The way Sherlock had looked at her and spoken to her still made John's stomach churn and a heavy knot coiled in his chest. It wasn't fair that some people got to have it all; it was even less fair that those people always seemed to be the ones who ended up taking it for granted. He wasn't naive, of course. No, John knew that the world had always been divided up into the haves and the have nots - he himself had always fallen on the lower end of the spectrum of the have nots - but he also believed in holding people accountable for their actions. Just because Sherlock was a celebrity didn't mean that he should be allowed to treat people any way that he liked.

John sucked in a deep breath and let out a long exhale, counting to ten as slowly as he could in order to calm himself. "Sorry, Molls…" he sighed, shaking his head sullenly, “I didn’t mean to spoil your day”. He brought his hand up to rub at the nape of his neck, his cheeks flushing with a fresh wave of guilt as the weight of his actions settled on his shoulders. 

Molly watched him carefully, chewing her bottom lip a moment as she let out a resigned sigh and came to sit next to him. She carefully tucked the autographed portrait away in her messenger bag before leaning against John’s arm to rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” she answered, squeezing his arm gently, “He was being a bit of a jerk, wasn’t he?” 

Swallowing thickly, John let his head loll to the side so that his cheek was resting on her head.  _ Oh, Molly… Sweet, wonderful Molly…  _ He turned his face to kiss her hair and felt her shoulders relax a bit under his attention. “Yeah, he was,” he agreed, “I didn’t really mean to yell at him like that. It’s just…” He stopped for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to say exactly and he licked his lips. “Well, guys like that always let the fame and shit go to their heads, don’t they? And you don’t deserve to be treated that way; not by anybody, especially after the way you’ve been there for me after all these years. Dragging me out to parties and stuff when you think I need to loosen up and have some fun… Not to mention all the times you’ve hung around my house in order to help me with ‘life’ stuff.” 

The words were sincere and he felt a stab of relief as Molly seemed to know exactly what he meant by them as she tilted her head up to kiss his cheek. Her eyes were filled with understanding and John’s lips formed a tight smile in return. “I know, John,” she said, brushing his shaggy blond hair back from his forehead. “It isn’t your fault, love. Life hasn’t always been kind to you but that’s okay; we seem to manage just fine. I understand why you feel the way that you do; it isn’t exactly fair… but, yeah, I know what you go through every day and how badly guys like that get under your skin… I mean, we  _ have _ been friends for nearly thirteen years after all.” 

His cheeks flushed and he smiled shyly. That was all there was to it, then. The thing about his friendship with Molly was that, from the very first day they’d met, she’d always had a way of saying something in such a way that let him know that whatever dumb thing he had chosen to do or say was simply water under the bridge to her. She seemed to always know exactly what he was feeling and what he needed to hear in order to drag himself out of his misery. As far as friends went, Molly was the best that John had ever had and he often felt like he owed her a great deal for all she tended to put up with. After all, it had even been Molly that had first sat him down and forced him to come face to face with all of the truths about himself that he had been trying to run away from for far too long - including the fact that he wasn’t as straight as he pretended to be. 

More than once, she had caught him checking out his old rugby teammate and captain, Bill Murray, and had only called him out on it when their conversations turned to relationships and he attempted to deny that he had any interest in men at all. The whole situation had angered him at first, but, as she continued to shower him with support and acceptance, it didn’t take him long to realize just how much it meant to her for him to be true to himself, to know that he didn’t have to hide anything just because he felt that he had a 'golden boy' reputation to uphold. 

He smiled at the memory of her dedication to making sure he always stayed true to himself and he gestured toward her bag. “Well, was it worth it, at least?” he asked, teasing her to lighten the mood. 

With a roll of her eyes, Molly shoved his shoulder gently. "Why? You trying to take it from me so you can kiss it every night before you go to bed?" 

John pulled a face and wrinkled his nose, "Ugh, not hardly!" He chuckled and winked at her, playfully, "He's all yours, that one is. I think I prefer my men a bit less arsehole-y, thank you very much."

Molly laughed out loud then and let her head fall back to his shoulder, "You're such a pain in the arse, John Watson." 

Her words held no venom and John couldn't help but laugh with her as he pushed himself up to standing and turned to offer her his hand. "Come on. After getting us thrown out, the least I can do is walk you home." 

**********

The sun was setting by the time John left Molly’s house and doubled back toward the convention center to make his own way home. He glanced down at his faded black Converse shoes as he walked, thinking back on the events of the afternoon. A small part of him wondered if he hadn’t been just a little bit out of line in the situation at the convention center, and the more he thought about it, the more embarrassed he felt. He shouldn't have lost his temper the way he had, no matter what Sherlock had said. He should have just called him out on it and left, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

A soft sigh escaped John's lips and he rounded the corner of the convention center as he turned toward his neighbourhood. A figure in the shadows up ahead caught his eye and he squinted just a bit in hopes of bettering his sight. Judging by the trademark ridiculously long legs, lean figure, and unmistakably curly hair, John knew exactly who he had stumbled upon. 

"Sherlock?" he called, not even thinking about how strange it felt to address the actor so casually. 

Sherlock snapped his head up, whirling around to look over his shoulder, and it was then that John noticed that Sherlock had been arguing with someone, quietly but intensely. With a low growl that reminded John of the sound effects from Sherlock's tv show, the young actor glared at him through narrowed eyes. He didn't speak, but John could tell by the way the man's entire body seemed to tense as John drew closer that Sherlock was quite angry with him.

Raising his hands in surrender as he approached, John ducked his head in respect. "Hey,look, mate… I'm sorry I lost my cool like that, all right? It wasn't intentional… I just have an issue with -" 

Before he could finish, Sherlock shot toward him, faster than John had ever seen anyone move in his life, and his fists closed in the fabric of John's shirt, snatching him up so that the toes of his shoes barely touched the pavement. "What did you DO to me?" Sherlock shouted, shaking John none too gently. "When you shoved me earlier, something happened!!"

John's head rattled on his shoulders as the taller man shook him rather violently.  _ What the bloody hell was he on about? _ John shook his head to regain control of his thoughts and glared back at Sherlock. "What do you mean 'what did I do to you'?" he spat, confusion clear in his tone. "Are you fucking mental? You seem perfectly fine to me."

Sherlock growled again, snapping his teeth in front of John's face in a clear display of dominance and frustration. "You altered my ability to shift and you know it! Now, tell me how you did it!"

_ Shift? What the fuck?! Was he serious? _

"I don't know what you're talking about!" John shouted back, thoroughly confused now. He knew that some actors kept themselves deeply rooted in their character’s persona to maintain their credibility on screen, but Sherlock seemed to be taking it a touch too far with all of this “shifting” nonsense. As the admission hung in the air, Sherlock fixed John with a hard stare that seemed to give him the power to dissect every single thought John had ever had and it was clear that something strange was indeed going on, whether John understood it or not.

A few breathless moments passed by before Sherlock finally blinked and let out a heavy sigh. His grip on John's shirt loosened and Sherlock set him back down on the pavement gracefully before turning back to the other man who was still half hidden by the shadow of the building. "He truly doesn't know…" Sherlock said, addressing the figure. 

The other man stepped forward, blowing out a frustrated puff of air. "Yeah, I kind of figured he wouldn't know, Sherlock," he said, tugging a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his sport coat before lighting one up. He took a long, slow drag from the cigarette as he perched it between his lips and blew the smoke up into the air on the exhale. "So, now what?"

Sherlock shook his head, obviously still agitated, "I don't know, do I? I've never had this problem before." With another heavy sigh, Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "We'll just have to take him with us. Cancel all of my other appointments and appearances; I have to get back to the lab and figure this out."

John's eyebrows shot up.  _ Surely he doesn't mean me, right?  _ "Um, are you talking about me?"

Sherlock opened his eyes only to roll them with a huff. "Obviously. Do you see anyone else standing here?"

A look of sheer aggravation settled over John's features and he licked his lips as he laughed uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah, no… I don't think I'll be going anywhere with you, thank you very much," John answered, feeling his entire body tense at the idea of being taken anywhere against his will.

Sherlock’s forehead furrowed as he quirked an eyebrow, "I missed the part where I asked you,  _ human _ ," - he said the word with an air of distrust - "but I believe the choice isn't exactly yours to make,". 

The actor turned back to his friend, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder toward John. "I'm ready to go home," he stated arrogantly, "Bring him… you know what to do". Without waiting for a response, Sherlock turned and headed in the direction of a large black tour bus that John hadn't noticed before, parked on the opposite side of the street. 

The other man sighed and stamped out his cigarette, tugging something from his coat pocket as he made his way toward John, who was backing away slowly. "Just be still, kid," the man said with an apologetic smile, "this won't hurt a bit."

_ What won't… huh? _

It was too late by the time the words fully registered.John caught a glimpse of the syringe just before its needle sank into his upper arm. "Hey!" he shouted as his fight or flight response switched on and he kicked out at the other man, doing his best to fight back, but it was no use. Whatever was in that syringe was already taking its toll and John felt his vision clouding within seconds before everything faded to black. 

  
  



	3. Unpleasant Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is left alone with thoughts, as well as his conscience, as they make their way to the lab and receives some very unwelcomed advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for the next chapter!! Bear with me as we keep trucking along on this journey! You may notice that I finally added the number of chapters this fic will have and I am seriously thinking the 6th will be the final chapter. I hope this next one clears up some of the questions and cliffhangers I left you all with, though, for now!
> 
> Special thanks to my tribe for being amazing and helping push me to get this done! CarmillaCarmine, thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Language are the real MVPs here!! All my love and gratitude to you all! <3

_ How could he not know? It's absolutely ridiculous! He HAS to be lying… _

Sherlock's thoughts raced as he slammed the bus door behind him. Ever since his altercation with John -  _ the ordinary idiot!  _ \- he had been trying his hardest to figure out what the man had done that had caused him to blackout, which had been strange enough on its own, but now he found that he couldn't even shift to his lupine form whenever he pleased even though he had mastered the ability to control his shifts the day he turned seventeen. 

He let out a soft growl as he slumped down against the cushions of one of the bench seats and let his head fall back. What was he thinking? He was twenty-four years old and kidnapping a human against his will. He should have been ashamed of his actions -  _ surely there was something in The Code about this! _ \- but he couldn't help himself. He needed John in order to find out what had caused such an abrupt change in his abilities and, if that meant kidnapping him, then Sherlock would just have to turn a blind eye to morality for a while. At least until he sorted himself out. 

The turn his thoughts had taken took up an irksome residence in Sherlock’s mind but the irony was not lost on him. It was interesting just how far one was willing to stretch their moral boundaries as long as fame and fortune were on your side. While it was true that Sherlock had risen to fame almost overnight, his onscreen life wasn’t as far removed from reality as most of the world imagined. As the most popular young actor of the year, he had seen his career take off as he was swept into the lead role of a primetime television drama that focused primarily on a teenage werewolf trying to survive life in a human high school. He shuddered at the term ‘werewolf’ and let out a disgusted sigh. The premise of the series was mind-numbingly cliched and more than a little bit boring at even its best moments, but Sherlock had nevertheless agreed to contract himself out to the show for the next four years of his life. The truth, as many people did not know, was that his brother Mycroft was the CEO of the television studio that had commissioned the show in the first place.

Sherlock’s relationship with his brother, although very strained, was an extremely vital aspect of his life. As a man who led a rather mysterious double-life, he couldn’t exactly afford to go making enemies with those he depended upon to make sure that his secret stayed… well, a secret. After all, it was Mycroft’s idea to push for the television show knowing full well that Sherlock would never be able to sustain a real job; therefore, one had to be created especially for him. While Sherlock knew he wasn’t the only young British actor in the world, he was, however, the only one that occasionally sported a fur coat and a tail.

As strange and bizarre as it sounded, Sherlock Holmes was in fact a real-life  _ werewolf _ , for lack of a better term. The word scraped against his nerves with the same cringe-inducing energy as fingernails on a chalkboard, but he had to accept the matter as it lie. Leto-lycanthropes, as they were called in his world, were genetically selected and could not be turned or created in any other way. This meant that at least one parent had to be descended directly from the line of Leto herself. 

Leto, Goddess of Wolves, as she was known in Greek mythology, was believed to have had the ability to take the form of a wolf whenever she pleased and was also linked to Lycia, the wolf-country. As a young boy, Sherlock was told great stories of Leto and her children, Artemis and Apollo, by his mother - the only other Leto-lycanthrope he had ever known. While it had always seemed strange to him that Mycroft had never successfully completed a shift, he learned much later in life that not all children produced between a human and a Leto-lycanthrope would carry the genetic ability to shape-shift. So, as the brothers grew and changed in their respective ways, Mycroft and Sherlock began to butt heads far more often than they ever had before. There had even come a time about seven years prior when they had stopped any and all forms of communication between themselves and went about their daily lives as if the other had never even existed. That is, until the hunting accident. 

Sherlock had gone out into the forest with their mother for an evening of hunting practice, neither of them knowing that it would be their last such excursion. What had started out as a pleasant training session soon changed to something Sherlock would never forget. An ear-ringing shot from a hunting rifle soon alerted them to the fact that the land on which they were hunting had been sectioned off for a hunting club since their last visit, but, unfortunately, the warning had come much too late. A loud crack cut through the air as another round was fired off and Sherlock remembered every minute detail of the events unfolding around him as he watched the bullet cut through his mother’s fur, sending her tumbling through the underbrush. He remembered scrabbling to regain conscious thought as the scene played out before him, his paws like lead as he tried his best to reach her body, but there was nothing to be done. The bullet had pierced her rib cage, blood staining the snow-white fur just behind the shoulder, dropping her in an instant. He'd shifted to his human form as quick as he could, pressing his hands into the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding but it was too late.

Life for Sherlock after his mother’s death had been more than difficult as he struggled with the irregularities of his shifts and worked toward learning to control them. Being what seemed to him to be the last of his kind, he was forced to teach himself about the things he hadn’t been exposed to and, in true Mycroft fashion, his older brother had simply shown up out of the blue as if their petty five-year feud had been non-existent. With him, Mycroft brought along a bodyguard in the form of a grey-haired man named Greg who had once been the head of the local police syndicate. Together, the two men convinced Sherlock to trust them with his abilities and even went so far as to explain Mycroft’s position as the Chief Executive Officer of a television studio in London. It hadn't taken much persuasion for Sherlock to see the sensibility in his brother's proposal even if it meant going against everything he had been taught about concealing his identity. From there, the rest was history and the idea for Sherlock’s career as an actor was born.

Looking back on all that he had endured, Sherlock knew that he should be grateful to Mycroft, and most days he was, but, as his mobile phone vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans, he let out a heavy groan. He pulled the device from his pocket and, sure enough, Mycroft’s number lit up the display. 

“Yes?” he answered as he raised the device to his ear, doing his best to keep his tone flat and neutral.

Mycroft let out an amused huff on the other end of the line and Sherlock could picture the perfect curve of his forced smile. “Ah, well, hello to you, too, brother mine. Am I interrupting something?” he mused, already champing at the bit to start a minor spat. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “No, Mycroft… What do you want?”. He knew as soon as the words left his lips that the question was pointless - Mycroft had access to cameras all over the city in order to keep tabs on his little brother. Not to mention the fact that Greg would have already fired off a text to alert him to the altercation with John. 

“Hm, I could ask you the same thing,” Mycroft teased condescendingly, drawing out his game, “After all, I’m sure you intend on bringing your little experiment back to the estate for further… testing.”

Fighting back the low growl that threatened to rise up out of his throat, Sherlock took a deep breath before responding. “All right, fine. What of it?” he huffed, already longing to end their conversation. Admitting that he needed Mycroft’s help was worse than having his tail slammed in the trunk of a car one hundred times over, but he wasn’t left with much choice.

The victorious little chuckle that left Mycroft’s lips caused Sherlock’s to curl up in an irritated snarl, but if the older brother could deduce it through the receiver, he ignored it. “Come to the back gates. Reginald will be waiting for you and will see that your little friend goes unnoticed,” he stated, his voice taking on the business-like tone that he used for work. “Oh, and Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and forced the words through clenched teeth, “Yes, Mycroft?”

The line was silent for a moment, almost as if the elder Holmes were attempting to choose his words carefully, “Do be sure that this one doesn’t turn out like the last one… We can’t afford another disaster."

A deep growl rumbled up from Sherlock’s chest and his grip tightened around the phone.  _ How DARE he insinuate that someone as ordinary and simple as John could ever be anything like… No… Don’t let him get under your skin; it’s what he wants...  _ Sherlock cleared his throat and shook the angry thoughts from his head. If Mycroft wanted to play this game, then Sherlock would play right along with him. “Do fuck off,  _ brother mine, _ ” he finally sneered, ending the call with a flick of his thumb before launching the phone across the small compartment of the bus. It hit the far wall and clattered to the floor as Sherlock threw himself back against the cushions once again. 

_ Fucking Hell, this better not blow up in my face... _

  
  
  



	4. Chasing Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes to find himself under the microscope as Sherlock's latest experiment but it isn't long before both men realise they're in for so much more than what they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another chapter being posted on the SAME day! What is this madness?? I'll tell you... It's me trying to get this thing up and posted before I chicken out LOL Thank you all for continuing to read this little clusterfuck of chaos. I truly appreciate the support and comments. LOVE YOU ALL!
> 
> Again, special thanks go out to the best friends I could ever ask for: CarmillaCarmine, thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Language. All the heart eyes for you!

John groaned softly, rolling onto his side as he tried his best to sit up. The metal surface beneath him was cool to the touch and soothed his sore muscles. He had no idea where he was but he knew that something wasn't right. As he searched his mind, memories flickered across his thoughts and it didn’t take long for him to remember the way his skin had burned and tingled as the drugs had been injected into his system. As his body continued to regain its proper functions, his head ached and his mouth was dry but, all in all, he seemed to be okay. 

The more he scanned his memory, the more the situation began to clear itself up. The last thing John remembered was Sherlock saying something about getting back to "the lab" and telling his bodyguard to bring John along. So, John figured it was safe to assume that he had been transported to wherever Sherlock had been planning to take him, but there was so much more to this  bizarre incident that didn't make any sense at all.

Before he could think too much into the day's events, however, a gentle hand brushed the hair back from his face and settled on his forehead just as his mother had done to check his temperature when he was a child. He groaned again and squinted against the fluorescent lighting as he blinked up to see Sherlock’s angular face mere inches from his own. With a jolt, he jerked away instinctively. 

“Ah, good! You’re awake,” the taller man grinned as he gripped John’s shoulder and simultaneously jabbed him in the neck with a pen-like device that John was sure he'd only seen in the movies. “Greg wouldn’t allow me to stick you while you were unconscious," he frowned, clearly not understanding what the big deal was, "so I've been waiting for hours."

“Ow!" John shouted, swearing under his breath as he struggled against Sherlock’s grip on his shoulder. It was a futile attempt since his muscles were still weak from the tranquillizer and he cried out once again as Sherlock pulled the device from his neck. "What do you mean 'hours'? And what was that about?! What the hell is wrong with you, you sick fuck?!" John growled out, his temper flaring even more than before as he glared at Sherlock. If looks could kill, he was certain the poncy git would be dead ten times over by now. 

Behind him, John heard the rustle of a newspaper and an amused chuckle filled the room. "Told you he'd think you were a psychopath," the bodyguard from the convention - Greg, from what Sherlock had said - mused, smirking to himself as he chanced a glance at John, "And, for the record, it hasn't been 'hours', more like twenty minutes, give or take a few." He shot John a quick wink and rolled his eyes before Sherlock groaned loudly and rounded on him.

"I'm not a psychopath; I'm a high functioning sociopath," he spat; his teeth snapping together on the last word as he eyed Greg furiously.

Greg's expression grew serious as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know… I did the research," he replied, trying his best not to blow his cover as a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. 

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he huffed out an irritated breath, turning back to the microscope on the table behind him. As Sherlock busied himself, John was certain he saw Greg mouth the word 'psychopath!' to him out of the corner of his eye, but he was too engrossed in what Sherlock was doing with the equipment he'd gathered. Sherlock pulled a small glass slide from its casing and positioned it on the staging area before unboxing a brand new slide the same size as the first, muttering something under his breath about 'shifts' and 'runes'.

  
  


_ Wait… had he really meant what he'd said about ‘shifting’?  _

John shook his head in disbelief, a wave of nausea rolling over him. He knew he had heard the term in Sherlock’s television show and knew that it referred to the transition that his character made from his human form to his wolf form and vice versa, but he couldn’t imagine that Sherlock might actually believe that he could really do it.  _ Surely, he knew…? Didn’t he?  _ The idea that Sherlock may very well believe that he was a real-life werewolf made John’s head spin and he was suddenly glad that he was sitting down. The very thought was so much more than John could wrap his head around; it was simply ridiculous. What on earth could possibly possess Sherlock to think like that?

_ Shit…  _

He didn’t even bother trying to comprehend what was happening; he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Deep down, John knew that whatever he was walking into was going to be beyond bizarre, but he couldn’t quell the small part of him that was curious to know what would happen next. Most people would be terrified at the concept of being kidnapped and dragged to an undisclosed location against their will, but, against what John knew should be his better judgment, he wasn’t the least bit afraid. Confused as hell, maybe, but not afraid. Somehow, he knew that Sherlock had no intentions to hurt him or kill him, so his brain simply blocked out any of the fears he should have had at this point. 

"Are you all right, mate?" Greg asked, drawing John out of his thoughts. He was leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees; his expression was open and his eyes looked rather tired, judging by the dark circles beneath them.

Humming softly, John nodded, "Yeah... I mean, all things considered, I'd have to say my day could always be worse."

His pitiful attempt to bring a bit of humour to the situation seemed to do the trick as Greg let out a quiet chuckle. The man shook his head and stood, bracing his hands on his knees to push himself up before stretching his arms above his head. His back cracked and he huffed in response as he made his way over to John. With a tight but friendly smile, he gestured to the lab door with a jerk of his head. 

"If you're hungry, you can follow me or, if you'd rather, I can just nip down and whip up a couple of sandwiches for us and a cup of tea for himself," Greg suggested, glancing at Sherlock in the end with yet another eye roll. The action made John smile. It was almost as if he were among friends. That is if friends kidnapped you and held you against your will in an undisclosed location, but then again, as John seemed fond of saying lately, things could always be worse.

Almost as if on cue, John's stomach growled and he dipped his head in gratitude as he nodded politely. "A couple of sandwiches would be lovely, thanks," he replied, trying not to appear too eager to stuff his face, but he hadn't eaten anything since the night before. Molly had dragged him out of bed and out of the house at an earlier hour than he had ever been used to so that they would have time to check out the rest of the convention venue before her scheduled meeting with the man who would later become John's kidnapper. 

Once again, the absurdity of the day's events slapped John square in the face and he couldn't shake the feeling that something very strange was going on. He glanced behind him at Sherlock. The man was still sitting at his workstation, hunched over his microscope, where he seemed to be muttering something inaudible to himself. As "normal" a man as Sherlock seemed to be, he moved and behaved in ways that John had never seen in another human being and that was saying something, considering all of the weirdos he'd encountered while at Uni. It was odd to think that he had just seen the man before him on his television last night, but there was more to it than that and John was going to get to the bottom of it.

As his curiosity got the better of him, he turned back to Greg with a polite smile. "As much as I'd like to join you on a little tour of the kitchen, I think I might better stick around since he's got my DNA over there. I'd like to make sure he doesn't try to clone me or something," he joked, a light-hearted chuckle escaping his lips despite how nervous he felt at the prospect of being left alone with Sherlock. __

_ Nervous?  _ Why was he nervous?

He blinked the thought away as Greg shrugged, grinning slightly as he did. "Suit yourself," the man said, turning over his shoulder to make his way out into the hall, "but don't come running to me when he starts to drive you crazy."

John chuckled softly and rubbed at the back of his neck as he once again shifted his focus to Sherlock. It was hard to believe that this was the first time they had actually been alone with one another over the course of the day and, with no one else around to see him do it, John let his eyes wander. He couldn’t help thinking about those thick black curls and what it would be like to card his fingers through them, which surprised him. It wasn’t exactly a secret that John was bisexual, but he usually tried to refrain from fawning over celebrities. Sherlock wasn’t making it easy for him, however. Even though he had been a complete arsehole, something about him kept drawing John in like a moth to a flame, a fact which became even more evident as the curve of Sherlock’s back drew John’s gaze to his slender waist. Just as John’s mind began to fill with thoughts of soft skin and lean muscle beneath his fingertips, he snapped his eyes shut and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t let himself fall into a disaster like that. Not now, not ever.

Sherlock reached for another slide and John realized then that he had no idea what he planned to do next. He glanced around the room and cursed himself for staying behind after being invited down to the kitchens. What an idiotic move that had been! With Greg gone, the easy atmosphere from moments ago seemed to dissipate and John found himself floundering for something to say that wouldn’t make him seem like an awkward twat. He supposed he could wander around the room and pretend to be interested in all the different equipment on the shelves in hopes that Sherlock would take it upon himself to ask if John wanted to know anything particular about his vast collection. However, if Sherlock were as engrossed in his own experiments as he appeared to be, then there was a high possibility that John would just be left walking around in circles like the moron that he felt he really was.

“I know you’re confused and want to know more about what has happened between us, but you don’t seem to know how to go about asking. So, for the sake of not wasting both of our time, just pull up a stool and take a look at this,” Sherlock’s deep baritone broke through John’s thoughts, causing him to flush with embarrassment. It was bad enough that he felt completely out of his element, but to have Sherlock notice and call him out on it? Somehow, that made things ten times worse.

“I, uh… I’m not...” John began, the words tripping up his tongue and forcing him to clear his throat, his face flushing heavily. Sherlock never even looked up from his microscope as he pushed the neighbouring stool out with his foot and John silently hoped that the man had simply chosen to ignore his obvious flub. 

He crossed the room and took a seat next to Sherlock, glancing at the slide the madman seemed to be studying. It was hard for him to tell much about it apart from the fact that he was fairly certain that Sherlock was examining a blood sample, most likely the one he had obtained from him earlier - which was something else John was still curious about. “Why did you do that, by the way?” he asked, finally finding his voice as he gestured to the slide. “What on earth could you possibly need my DNA for?” He wasn’t sure if Sherlock would answer or not, but it was worth a shot at least.

The madman rolled his eyes subtly as he let out a quiet sigh, but he straightened his back and ran a hand through his unruly curls. He brushed them back from his face and turned to John, fixing him with a calculated expression. “You truly don’t have any idea why I brought you here at all, do you?” he asked, giving John the impression that he was indeed missing some very important information about their current situation. 

With a shake of his head, John shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest,” he replied, “I was sort of hoping you could fill me in, especially since you took a blood sample from me without my consent after you drugged me and kidnapped me before bringing me to this place.” As much as he knew that he should probably let it go, he just couldn’t keep himself from getting a bit snarky when the opportunity presented itself.

Sherlock groaned then, seeming quite put out, and he let out a huff of irritation, but there was no venom in his words. “I did not exactly kidnap you. You have no idea who you might really be, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you have no idea what I mean by that statement either."

Sherlock hadn’t meant it rudely, but John bristled under the scrutiny, doing his best to quell his temper. He took a deep breath, flexing his left hand as he exhaled slowly. The more time the two men spent in each other’s presence, the more seemed to spark between them, whether John understood it or not. “No, I don’t know anything. That’s why I’m talking to you. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on so that we can get this sorted and I can go home,” he answered. “I have classes tomorrow.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at that and let out a sarcastically, flirty chuckle. “Classes? That’s what you’re concerned about? You really think I’m letting someone like you out of my sight while I’m still unable to shift and have no idea what it is that you’ve done to me that’s caused all of this in the first place?” Sherlock rolled his eyes once again and John made a mental note to start keeping track of just how many times the madman could repeat the gesture in a single hour. 

Resisting the urge to roll his own eyes, John instead furrowed his brow and pursed his lips as he eyed Sherlock curiously. “Again with the vague vocabulary. Tell me something, please. When are you going to stop with the dramatics and just tell me what the hell is going on? What do you mean by all of this ‘shifting’ business? You don’t mean to tell me that you honestly believe you can do that, do you? And just what the bloody hell do you mean by ‘someone like me’?”

A deep growl sounded in Sherlock’s chest and he wiped a hand over his face out of frustration. “Jesus Christ, John, for an attractive man of above-average intelligence, you are proving to be extremely ignorant,” he complained. “Of course I can actually shift… or at least I could before my abilities were compromised by a university student.” As he paused, taking a deep breath before he could get carried away, John's look of intense irritation urged him to continue. Sherlock exhaled slowly as he dipped his head. “My apologies… My point is that you are right: I can shift. I am what you would call a Leto-lycanthrope, meaning that I am a direct descendant of the wolf goddess, Leto. I have a human form, which you see before you, as well as a wolf form which I have currently been blocked from accessing. All in all, this means that I am most definitely not human… and, if my hypothesis is correct, neither are you…”

Sherlock’s cerulean blue eyes met John’s navy blue ones, and his last words seemed to knock the wind right out of John’s lungs. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in disbelief as he began to shake his head. “What?!” he yelped, his voice cracking more than it had since his teenage years. His heart was racing and he could already feel the beginnings of a mental breakdown creeping up on him. “Th-that’s not possible! I’ve always been normal! None of this is possible! Not for you or me or anyone! Whatever you’re thinking just -”

“John, breathe!” Sherlock whisper-shouted, waving a hand in front of his face to cut him off as he grabbed a test tube from the rack on the counter and shoved it into his hand. “Just look at this, will you? I know it all sounds crazy, but I had to see it for myself to truly believe it. I mixed a sample of my own blood with the sample that I collected from you and the results are undeniable. Both samples started out the same deep red colour, but as I combined them, a reaction occurred and now just look at them! Have you ever seen blue blood? I think not, Mr Medical School. This only happens in non-human entities, specifically those that are closely linked together through history and mythology” He took yet another deep breath as he turned back to the computer at his workstation and tilted the screen so that John could see it. “You definitely carry human DNA, but you also have other-worldly traits in your chemical makeup as well.”

The words hit John like a sack of bricks, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he sucked in a breath in an attempt to calm the fresh wave of panic and disbelief that welled up inside him. As hard as it was to hear and attempt to accept the information that Sherlock had dumped on him, John did all that he could to process what he was hearing. With a million questions warring for attention in his mind, John nodded slowly, taking in everything Sherlock had said. How could any of this be possible? Weren’t they past the age that was considered appropriate to still believe in fairy tales and made up nonsense? He studied the strange blue liquid that had once been his blood before passing the test tube back to Sherlock. Sherlock's fingertips brushed gently against John's hand unexpectedly and both men jumped reflexively. John's heart began to race and he was certain he had felt a tiny electric shock as their skin made contact. It wasn't painful, but the sensation definitely lingered throughout his entire body, lighting all of his nerve endings with a strange desire for more. The feeling intensified as he glanced up to see Sherlock staring back at him, his eyes wide.

_ What the fuck was that? Surely Sherlock felt it too... _

  
The sudden shock seemed to charge the air between them and something in Sherlock's demeanour changed; time seemed to slow down around them as Sherlock’s eyes flickered with a fierce intensity and his lips curved up in a devilish grin. “Oh… Felt that did you, Mr Watson?” he purred, leaning forward to hook a finger under John’s chin and tilting it up so that he could study his face. Everything about the situation should have set off alarm bells in John’s head, but he wouldn’t have been able to move even if he had wanted to. Their faces were mere inches apart as something heavy shifted between them and John couldn’t help himself as he licked his lips and dropped his gaze to Sherlock’s perfect Cupid’s bow. He let his eyes slip closed and tilted his chin ever so slightly to signal his silent consent, giving in to the alluring pull of his body’s desires for once in his life.


	5. Finding the Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spark ignites between the boys and Sherlock finds exactly what he's been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, yay!!! Nothing really new to add just hope that you like it!
> 
> Another special shout-out to my sounding board, CarmillaCarmine, thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Language! I literally couldn't have done this without you!!

Sherlock’s heart hammered in his chest as John closed his eyes and tilted his chin up in open invitation. From the moment their hands had touched, it was like the entire universe shifted around them, molding itself into a new formation in order to align the planets specifically for them. The feeling was both bizarre and oddly arousing, but Sherlock tried his best to rein in his animal instincts. The ability to shift from his human to his wolf form might have been out of commission but, so far, it seemed like everything _ else _ was working just fine.

After the disaster that had been their original meeting, Sherlock knew that he had crossed a very serious line by kidnapping John against his will. However, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Mixing his blood with John’s had been an absolute gamble as well - the last time he had tried mixing his DNA with that of a suspected fellow mythical, he had nearly blown up the lab - but it had been a risk that he had been willing to take and so far, all seemed to be falling into place better than he had ever dared to hope.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock let his own eyes slip closed, not wanting to keep this new experiment waiting any longer than he already had. He pressed forward and could feel the tantalising perfection that was John Watson pulling him in like some sort of super-charged magnetic force. Their lips brushed ever so slightly in an act so gentle and chaste that it shouldn't have qualified as a kiss at all, but the short burst of electricity that passed between them set Sherlock's synapses on fire once again and his mind spun out of control. John's lips were soft and pliant against his own, even with only the barest hint of intimacy between them, and it was almost more than he could bear. Gasping softly, he let his tongue dart out to soothe the sting before surging forward to lock lips with John once again in a rush of electric intensity only to have the thrilling sensation cut short by a loud  _ BANG  _ as the lab door swung open unexpectedly.

The interruption startled them both, each jumping back in opposite directions. John gasped and swore loudly as his elbow hit the corner of the metal workstation. Sherlock, however, snapped his head up to glare at the intruder. He could still feel the blood rushing through his veins as the heat of the moment began to dissipate.  _ Who the hell-?! _ Before he could finish his thought, Greg entered the room, carrying a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea.

“Sorry, boys. Didn’t think it would take me this long but Myc caught me downstairs and asked me to bring something up for you, Sherlock,” he said, seeming completely oblivious to the situation at hand. 

Sherlock eyed John carefully as he moved to lean against the workstation in order to make room for Greg to join them. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, but he couldn't deny the relief that flooded through him when John glanced up to meet his gaze and he blushed ever so slightly. The subtle rise of color in John's cheeks seemed to have quite the effect on Sherlock's insides, but he did his best to hide it as he turned his attention back to Greg, who had just pulled an envelope from the inner pocket of his coat. He'd revisit the strange new feeling once he'd gotten rid of him.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to the envelope.

Greg smirked and tossed it to him. "It's a letter from your brother," he said, furrowing his brow as the words left his lips. "Well, technically, it's a letter that your brother was given several years ago and he asked me to pass it on to you. He said you were quite cross with him after your phone call earlier, so he asked me to play Devil's advocate." He rolled his eyes as if he found the whole situation to be quite tiresome, but he kept his opinions on the matter to himself. "So, do with that what you will, but I should probably go before I'm forced to witness another bout of tonsil tennis between the two of you."

Sherlock reached out to take the envelope from Greg as John flushed, obviously thinking about what had just happened between them. The whole exchange was lost on Sherlock, however, as he glanced down at the front of the envelope and his heart seemed to stop beating altogether. His breath caught in his throat and it took all that he had to swallow down the intense wave of shock that threatened to wash over him. The perfect penmanship triggered a childhood full of precious memories and his fingers trembled as he pulled the letter from its protective sleeve.

"Um, Sherlock?" John prompted, redirecting his attention and taking a step closer as Sherlock stared blankly down at the stack of papers in his hand. "Is everything all right? What is it?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. It had been years since he'd seen the cursive script written so smoothly across the parchment, but he forced himself to pull it together as the weight of what he was holding threatened to crush him. With a trembling breath, he met John's eyes and held the letter out for him to take. "It's from my mother…"

  
  
  
  


**********

  
  
  


John stared blankly back at Sherlock, his confusion evident. He didn’t want to dredge up old memories if they were still sensitive, but he couldn’t help him if he didn’t know the truth. He cleared his throat, only then noticing that Greg had left them on their own once again, which was probably for the best. “Um, you lost me a bit, there,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Any chance you can fill me in on what I’m missing? Maybe give me an idea about why a letter from your mother is so important?” 

With a wave of his hand, Sherlock brushed John’s questions off. “My mother has been dead for years; you’re focusing on the wrong thing. What really matters isn’t the context of the letter but the  _ content _ ,” he replied, holding the letter out further so that John could see. “My mother wasn’t one to sit around and write. She had better things to do with her time like raising children in an alien society and teaching me about our kind. So, if she took the time to write a letter to my brother all those years ago, whatever she’s written is going to be quite valuable to me.”

Taking the edge of the letter in hand, John’s eyes darted over the page as he scanned the document. The hand-writing was small and precise, but legible enough.

  
  
  


__ _ My dearest Mycroft - _

_ First, I need to say that I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you. I know life hasn’t always been easy for you, dealing with the complications of life with me as well as your younger brother, but I am truly, deeply moved by how well you’ve handled yourself. In an act of great selflessness, you took it upon yourself to keep us as safe as possible… And that is why I must ask a favor of you… I never wanted to put you in this position, but it has come to my attention that I may not have a choice.  _

_ The hunting has started again... I know you’ve noticed. Hera’s descendants will stop at nothing to eradicate me from this earth and, if anything were to happen to me, I need you to promise me that you will protect your brother. Keep him safe and hide his abilities. No one must ever know of what he can do. If the Hunters believe that I am the last of Leto’s line, you and your brother just might be able to end this once and for all. We have worked too hard to give up on this just yet. _

_ With that being said, keep searching for the lost god... I can guess at your reaction, but all I can do is beg you to continue your search. You’ve told me at least a dozen times that the last known descendant of Zeus was last recorded during the war in Kosovo but there must be a child. For your brother’s sake, there has to be…  _

_ Find the lost god and make peace with the past. Do whatever it takes to reconcile the differences between our ancestors. If a blood pact is made, it could end your brother’s suffering forever. You could both live a normal, healthy life. No more hiding, no more shifting, no more secrets. _

_ I wish I had more information for you… I truly do… But, I know you’ll work as hard as you can to see that Sherlock is taken care of. Keep searching, keep safe, and remember how proud you’ve made me.  _

_ I love you more than words will ever be able to express… _

  * _Mum_



  
  
  


The creases in John’s brow deepened as he read through the letter a second time in an attempt to rationalize the words on the page.  _ Lost god? Zeus? Blood pact?  _ Just what exactly was she on about? John shook his head; he was starting to realize that the longer he spent with Sherlock, the more deeply he found himself being dragged into his world and part of him couldn’t decide how he felt about it.

He shook his head and let out a low whistle, “Wow… That’s quite heavy.” He gestured to the letter in Sherlock’s hand and couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of paper for such a short message. Some of the papers even seemed to have been printed quite recently in comparison to the letter itself. “What’s all that?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Sherlock, who had been scanning the letter intently, glanced up at him then, but didn’t reply. Instead of popping off with an answer as he usually would have, the man sucked in a breath before glancing at the papers once more. He seemed torn between what he wanted to say and whether or not he should say it, but, in the end, the truth won out.

“John, I…” he began, chewing on his bottom lip as he paused. “After our first encounter when the force of your hands blocked out my shifts, I was almost certain you were a Hunter, one of Hera’s cronies. Hera was the wife of the Greek god Zeus. However, many do not realise that she was not the only woman to capture his heart.” Sherlock took a deep breath, glancing at John to make sure he was following before he continued. “Leto was young and beautiful and, although he was married to Hera, Zeus was captivated by her. Soon, Leto became pregnant and Hera was outraged. She forbid Leto from giving birth on the mainlands and forced her to retreat into solitude. After her children Artemis and Apollo were born, she took the form of a she-wolf and descended on the earth once again to live out her life. Unfortunately, her existence was still too much for Hera. She sent Hunters after her and her offspring and the descendants of each have suffered greatly for their feud. However, the legend has it that by finding a direct descendant of Zeus, the curse of the wolf can be lifted as long as blood is mixed and the two become one.”

John blinked slowly, doing his best to allow his brain to process all that Sherlock had said. It was strange to think that the stories he had always thought to be make believe had turned out to have some semblance of truth to them after all. “Okay, I think I get it, but what does any of that have to do with the rest of those papers?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well, when I initially pegged you as a Hunter, I asked Greg to contact my brother to see if he could pull some information for me,” he admitted, glancing down at the paperwork in his hand. “But, as it turns out, he had your file pulled right after seeing our little altercation via the live feed on Greg’s body cam. This is all of the information he was able to find on you, as well as detailed instructions from old legends that tell exactly how to go about reversing my curse.”

The weight of the words struck John like a lorry and he felt his eyes widen in shock. “He… he pulled ‘my file’...?” he asked, completely mortified at having his privacy invaded so easily. “How did he-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sherlock interrupted, waving John off once again. “The point is that by pulling your file, Mycroft inadvertently did a great deal of my legwork and experimentation for me.” He shuffled the papers and thrust a particular page into John’s hands. “Your DNA profile combined with the blood tests I conducted here, as well as the clarification that your father was a fighter pilot who was shot down over Kosovo, disproves my theory, but it also proves what my brother speculated all along.”

John licked his lips, nervously. Everything made perfect sense and, even now, as he knew that what Sherlock was suggesting sounded completely insane, he couldn’t deny the evidence laid out in front of him. “I’m the one you’ve been searching for…” he swallowed heavily. “I’m the lost god, then…?”

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I do believe you are,” he agreed, his expression slightly guarded as he seemed to struggle with his own thoughts. 

It was strange to see him look so unsure of a situation after the confidence he had exuded over the course of their time together, but John swallowed his fears and reached out a hand to brush against Sherlock’s forearm. “Hey… What’s wrong?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “You’ve literally just found a solution to your life’s biggest problem and yet you seem…” John shook his head, “lost? Like you don’t know where to go from here or something.”

“I don’t,” Sherlock replied, his voice cracking slightly. “I can’t just demand that you cut your hand open and seal your blood with mine for my sake. It… It just wouldn’t seem right. Not after what happened earlier.” 

John felt a soft smile creep over his features, their kiss still clear in his mind as well, and he couldn’t help but shake his head as his heart filled with a sudden fondness that he couldn’t quite explain. “Would it make your life better if I did?” 

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, “Of course it would, but I can’t ask that of you… I won’t make demands of someone that I could care for...” 

The sudden admission seemed to shock Sherlock just as much as it did John as their eyes met, John’s full of hope and Sherlock’s laced with fear, but it was all that John needed to hear. He reached across Sherlock’s workstation and pulled a clean scalpel from its plastic covering before bringing the blade up to slice across the palm of his right hand. Presenting the scalpel to Sherlock handle first, he smiled softly up at him. “It isn’t a demand if I offer…”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after their blood bond was sealed, John and Sherlock are now living out their lives together in central London happy, carefree, and hopelessly in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINISHED!!! I AM SO FREAKING EXCITED RIGHT NOW! lol I cannot explain how proud I am to complete this and share it with you all! Thank you for supporting it and sticking with me through its posting! Those if you who were waiting on it to be completed, enjoy the ride! Thank you all again so much!
> 
> Special thanks as usual to my biggest supporters CarmillaCarmine, thinkanddoodle-batch, and Lisa4Language! I couldn't have done this without you guys and your neverending support!! Love to you all!! ❤️😍😘

_ Six Months Later _

  
  


Sunlight filtered in through the bay window on the far side of the room and John scrunched up his face in response. Monday's were always the worst, but he had to admit, his had certainly been much better since the day that he'd been kidnapped. The thought made him giggle and he rolled over onto his side. With a hum of contentment, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and buried his face in his partner's dark chocolate curls. Taking a deep breath, he committed Sherlock's scent to memory. He tried his best to separate each individual ingredient into its own unique categoryin his mind, but it was easier said than done. Sherlock did things like this on occasion - he called it his "Mind Palace" - and every time he used the technique, John couldn't help the gentle nudge of arousal sent straight to his groin. It was the same sensation that tended to make his stomach turn flips even if they were only kissing. 

As John rooted his nose even deeper into Sherlock's messy hair, a muffled growl let him know that his partner was finally waking up. "Mmm good morning," he said, kissing the shell of Sherlock's ear in greeting.

Another low growl rumbled up from Sherlock's chest and he huffed in response. "What's so good about it?" he complained, burrowing deep into the blankets. After four months of living together, John still hadn't made a morning person out of him.

John chuckled and flicked his tongue out to tease Sherlock's earlobe with a wicked grin. "Well… I could think of a few things," he purred, rocking his hips up against his lover's backside. The response was instantaneous, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Sherlock, as John’s morning erection slid along the crease of his arse, teasing him through the fabric of his boxers. “Ah… like that do you?” John asked, his cheeky side springing to the surface.

Sherlock arched his back and pressed back against John’s length, huffing softly into his pillow. “Mmm, God, John, are you seriously already at it?" he moaned, clearly relishing the contact. 

With a devious grin, John trailed a series of playful kisses down the side of Sherlock's neck. He nipped and sucked every so often, teasing the sensitive skin as he continued to roll his hips. Sherlock let out another quiet moan, allowing John to continue his exploration. It was always wonderful to start their days like this, with Sherlock so warm and accommodating in his arms. It was so nice, in fact, that they had taken to engaging in their new morning routine as often as possible, which was actually why John had found it so strange to wake up to a boxer-clad boyfriend instead of a naked one. 

He hummed in Sherlock's ear as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the offending garment. "I'm gonna need these, love. I'm afraid they're in my way."

A visible shiver ran down Sherlock's spine as John's breath tickled his ear and he nodded agreeably. "Yes, please," he replied, lifting his hips a bit to give John more room. The words were breathless and the sound sent a jolt of arousal straight through John's core.

John tugged Sherlock's pants down around his thighs and let his fingers trail back up the sensitive flesh. The skin was soft to the touch and pale save for the leftover love bites from their last encounter. Sherlock liked to be marked, a little tip John had picked up on not long after their first time together, and the marks John had recently left were beginning to fade. He made a mental note to touch them up later because this morning was going to be different.

"Lovely," he breathed, kissing Sherlock's ear again. "You are absolutely gorgeous."

Sherlock huffed at the praise as he always did but he didn't protest. Instead he groaned and pressed his arse flush against John's cock once again in an obvious plea. 

John smiled to himself and brought a hand up to stroke Sherlock's cheek as he nuzzled his neck. "How do you want me, love?" 

Leaning into the touch at his cheek, Sherlock rolled over onto his back. He turned in John's arms, bringing them face to face for the first time that morning and John couldn't help himself as his smile grew wider. "Good morning," he said, greeting him again and taking a moment to meet Sherlock's gaze. His eyes were alert but his curls were mussed and his face still held that soft, sleepy look that John had only ever seen on Sherlock. 

"Good morning," Sherlock answered, offering John a soft smile of his own. He glanced down at his own body, dipping his head to the blanket covering his hips. "Why don't you come up here and we can start there, hm?"

John raised his eyebrows curiously, but did just as he was asked. He straddled Sherlock's hips, his cock sliding easily against Sherlock's as he settled into position and the sensation made them both moan in unison. "Fucking hell, love," John breathed. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath to steady himself; that first intimate touch always got to him more than any other.

Sherlock chuckled, a low and gravelly sound that rumbled up from the depths of his chest. Without a word, he reached between them and brushed his fingers over John's belly before taking them both in hand. 

As Sherlock's hand wrapped around both of their lengths, John sucked in a breath and bit down on his bottom lip. He groaned with satisfaction as Sherlock drew his hand up and then down in a lazy stroking pattern before leaning up to press his lips against John's. The kiss was soft and chaste at first, but it didn't take him long to up the momentum in conjunction with his hand. The harder and more pronounced the strokes became, the deeper and filthier the kisses grew as Sherlock licked into John's mouth, turning the kiss into something needy and wanton. 

John's breaths were coming in short gasps as he rolled his hips up into Sherlock's grip before shaking his head. "If you want me inside you, we can't keep that up," he panted. "I'll come before I can even get you ready". He chuckled slightly, pulling back to brush a quick kiss against lover's cheek as Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"Right," he said, huffing softly as John moved from his position. 

John reached into the nightstand for the bottle of lubricant before situating himself between Sherlock's knees where he'd pulled them up to make room. They hadn't bothered with condoms since they were both free of anything that could harm the other, which struck John as strange since they had quite literally cut their palms open and mixed their blood together in order to make Sherlock human on their involuntary "first date". Popping the lid of the lubricant open, he poured a generous amount into his palm as he spread it over his fingers, then returned the bottle to the nightstand. John stroked Sherlock's thigh with his free hand and let the other dip down to stroke over his hole. Sherlock flinched instinctively in response but relaxed his body into the touch as John's middle finger pressed into him easily.

Coaxing Sherlock into submission was quite possibly a thing of beauty in and of itself. Watching him fall apart as John worked him open never seemed to get old. His lean, muscular body pulled tight like a bow string before ultimately snapping and allowing John to break him and bend him to his will as he slipped a second finger inside. "That's it," John whispered, stroking Sherlock's thigh once again to praise him. He worked his fingers in and out slowly making sure to stretch and prep him until he was sure he was ready. "Just like that. Christ, you're going to feel so good for me, love. Absolutely perfect."

Sherlock moaned loudly as the praise washed over him then let out a yelp of pleasure as John hooked his fingers and stroked over his prostate. Being in medical school had its perks - being able to locate your partner's prostate with ease was just one of them - and John intended to exploit them as often as possible. Pleasuring Sherlock, as it turned out, was quickly becoming one of John's favorite and most engaging pastimes, but for the moment he was desperate for more.

"Are you ready, love?" 

Sherlock groaned as John's fingers slipped from his body but he nodded agreeably before tugging a pillow down and positioning it just under his hips, "Oh God, yes."

As Sherlock readied himself, John retrieved the bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicked himself up, making sure to cover the entirety of his length. Once he was satisfied, he moved back into position and lined himself up before locking eyes with Sherlock for a final confirmation. As Sherlock licked his lips and nodded once again, John pressed in.

Both men hissed in response and John felt Sherlock's body stretch around him as he did his best to ease into him so that Sherlock's body had time to adjust. It had been a couple of days since their last encounter due to John's "incessant" need to study taking precedence over their physical relationship, and he wanted to be sure that he was gentle to start. He inched his hips forward carefully and it wasn't long before he was fully seated inside his lover. Sherlock's body was tight and felt absolutely amazing as John waited for permission to move, which was granted only a few moments later when Sherlock took a deep breath.

"You can move," he said, his voice a bit shaky from the strain being put on his body. "Just go at our normal pace and don't worry about hurting me. Everything feels good." 

John smiled down at him and slowly began to rock his hips, gently working his cock in and out in an attempt to work up to his usual pace. With Sherlock's body already conforming to his every thrust, John found himself settling into their normal routine quite easily. In fact it wasn't long at all before Sherlock's hands were scrabbling for purchase in the sheets and John was thrusting into him with abandon, their moans and heavy breathing mixing together quite loudly as John lowered himself down to Sherlock's chest. 

He braced his forearms on the mattress, bracketing Sherlock's shoulders, before threading a hand up into his messy curls and pulling him into a heated kiss. Their tongues met in a filthy display of dominance, each vying to win over the other as Sherlock's hand slid between their bodies to grip his own length. He jerked himself in time with John's thrusts and wrapped his lips around John's tongue, sucking and swirling his own around it as if he were attempting to suck him off through his mouth. John's hips faltered at the implication and he moaned and whimpered into Sherlock's mouth knowing he wasn't going to last much longer.

He thrust his hips into Sherlock, grazing his prostate over and over again, before finally coming deep inside him with a shout. "Oh fuck… Sherlock!" he gasped, swearing loudly as Sherlock's entire body tensed around him and John felt as well as heard Sherlock follow him over the edge.

Sherlock cried out, spilling between them as he gripped John's hips in an attempt to steady himself, but the sensation was too much. He bucked his hips and rocked against John's belly as he came, whimpering and gasping for breath beneath him. 

As John's orgasm began to subside, he nuzzled Sherlock's neck and pressed a trail of affectionate kisses down the column of his throat as he stroked his side. "Christ, that was amazing," he whispered, catching his breath as Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"Quite," he said, sounding completely and utterly satiated. It was very rare to see Sherlock so thoroughly satisfied with anything in life and John couldn't resist feeling a little bit smug.

With a heavy groan, he pulled out slowly and carefully before his legs could give out and he collapsed gently next to Sherlock on the mattress. His chest heaved and he curled onto his side, resting his head on Sherlock's chest as they came down together. 

Sherlock's arm came up to wrap around John's side, holding him close, as he turned his head to press his lips against John's forehead in an intimate display of affection and John chuckled. "Feeling sweet, are we?"

Sherlock huffed, smirking then as John called his bluff. "So it seems," he answered, "or perhaps I just know that if I can convince you to lie here and cuddle with me, then you won't want to leave and we can stay in bed all day like we did the week before."

John laughed outright then and kissed Sherlock full on before sitting up and shoving him face-first into the pillows. "You're absolutely incorrigible," he chided, rolling out of bed and stretching as he shook his head. "I can't believe you'd try to trick me like that. Here I was thinking about taking you to dinner tonight after you finished with work and I got out of class."

Sherlock hummed as he pretended to mull the idea over, completely ignoring the light-hearted ribbing. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched John stumble around the room in search of his clothing. “I’d be amenable to dinner, yes. However, I must disagree with your afternoon plans,” he mused. “What would you say to a wonderful round of shower sex, followed by a generous second helping of morning sex instead?”

John laughed out loud once again and tossed a stray pair of pants at Sherlock’s head, narrowly missing his face as they landed on his shoulder. “Not on your life, you lazy git. I’ve got exams this week and you have work,” he said. “Besides, I don’t think your production crew has any desire to delay filming yet again simply because you would rather shag all over the flat instead of going to work.”

“You’re lucky that these are mine,” Sherlock said, plucking the boxer shorts from his shoulder and tossing them to the floor with a heavy sigh. Knowing full well that he had no real argument against John’s suggestion, Sherlock rolled out of bed and bundled the bedsheet up around his shoulders as he wrapped the rest of it haphazardly around his waist. “Fine, I’ll go to work… but don’t be surprised if Mycroft calls to tell you that I’ve filed multiple harassment charges against the majority of his staff for trying to force me into the arms of yet another Hollywood starlet in an attempt to give my character a ‘sexy new love interest’.”

Rolling his eyes affectionately, John couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. “I would expect nothing less,” he replied, throwing a quick wink in Sherlock’s direction. “Now come on, hurry up and get dressed before we’re both late.”

Within the hour, both men were showered and dressed for the day. They exchanged a couple of chaste kisses before heading downstairs and out into the chilly London air. John closed and locked the door behind them, smiling proudly at the golden “221B” emblazoned on the front door to showcase their new address. It might not have been the luxurious private estate that Sherlock had grown accustomed to over the years, but it was something they had chosen together and that meant more to John than anyone could have ever imagined. Moving in with Sherlock had given John something more to look forward to and he took pride in returning to Baker Street every evening. 

“John, is everything all right?” Sherlock queried, causing John to turn his attention back to his lover as he reached forward to take his hand. 

With a shake of his head, he flashed his lover a private smile and nuzzled the back of his hand before placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Of course it is. Sometimes, I just can’t help but remember how very fortunate I am to have you to wake up to each and every day.”

The sentiment brought a gentle blush to Sherlock’s cheeks and John couldn’t wait for the next opportunity to kiss him silly. Life had certainly blessed John when it granted him the power to change Sherlock's life forever. So while it might not have seemed like much to anyone else, life and love at 221B Baker Street was definitely home and John Watson was bound and determined to keep it that way.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
